


Everyone can break, even Misha Collins

by mishas_minions



Series: Everyone can break, even Misha Collins [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Comforting!Jensen, Conventions, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, sad!misha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:57:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishas_minions/pseuds/mishas_minions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad experience with some fans at a convention, Jensen does all he can to cheer Misha up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jensen merrily strolled down the convention hallway, feeling quite refreshed after a successful photo op session. The solos could be stressful, but overall he always felt good afterwards, having met the fans one on one. They were always so kind and creative, which Jensen deeply admired.

Even though he loved interacting with the fans, breaks were always nice, which is what he was specifically looking forward to. A creation worker had just informed him that Misha's Castiel photo ops were staring soon and he had a few hours to relax. What he had planned was to head out of the convention centre and sight see. He'd never really tried leaving mid convention before, so the thought excited him. The only thing that could make the day better was if Misha didn't have photo ops to do, so they could explore the city together.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Misha since that morning, which wasn't typical. Usually they'd spend every minute of their free time together before the weekend came to an end, as they never got much alone time otherwise.

He turned the corner and entered the washroom, making his way over to one of the urinals. The downside to such a hectic day was having to learn to hold your bladder for a prolonged amount of time, since they didn't get many chances to relieve themselves. Yet another reason to be thankful for breaks.

As he began unzipping his jeans, he heard a sniffle. It seemed to have come from somewhere behind him. He slowly turned around, eyes scanning the room. There was no one visibly around, so he paused, waiting for another sound to cut through the silence. Sure enough, he heard another small sniffle. This time he was able to identify that it was coming from one of the stalls.

He quickly zipped up his jeans and walked into the centre of the room, bending down slightly to get a better look. In the very last stall on the left, Jensen could see familiar black shoes and dark jeans, ones he could recognize from a mile away.

It took him a moment to find his voice, but when he did, it came out soft and hesitant. "Misha, it's Jensen... is everything okay in there?"

"J-Jensen? What are you doing here?" Misha asked, voice brittle.

"Well, I was about to pee..."

"Oh, that's, um... cool."

For once in his life, Jensen actually felt uncomfortable around Misha. Something was clearly off, he wasn't acting like himself at all. He sounded sick almost, not physically, but emotionally, if that made sense.

"You know your photo ops start soon," Jensen said, softening his voice.

"Ya, I-I'll be out in a," he cleared his throat, and spoke again, this time less brittlely, "in a minute."

"Are you sure you're alright? Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine!" He snapped, voice bouncing off the tiled walls. "Just go, okay?"

Jensen rested his forearm on the stall door, leaning his weight against it.

"Misha, I know you better than anyone, and I know you're lying. If you don't open this damn door right now I swear to god." Jensen felt a little guilty for getting so harsh, but he knew Misha was in fact _not_ fine, and he definitely wasn't going to leave him alone in the freaking bathroom.

After a few beats, the lock slowly slid off, and the door creaked open. Misha stepped out, head lowered. Before Jensen could even open his mouth to speak, Misha was shoving past him, turning on the tap and aggressively rinsing his hands in the sink.

"Misha, look at me."

"I'm fine," he spat out, breathlessly. It almost sounded as if he were programmed to say those words which were obviously meaningless.

"No, you're not."

He smacked the handle on the soap dispenser, a generous amount piling up in his palm. He scrubbed his hands together, refusing to meet Jensen's gaze through the mirror.

"I'm fine," he repeated, voice almost a whisper.

Jensen found himself at a loss for words, seeing Misha like this. Truth be told, it kind of scared him.

He took a small step forward, hovering a hand over his shoulder. To his surprise, he was actually finding it difficult to make contact.

He continued washing his hands, even though the soap was clearly rinsed off. He kept scrubbing, harder and faster.

"Hey..."

 _"I said, I'm fine,"_ he yelled, voice drastically raising. He tightened his hand into a fist and threw a hard punch at the mirror, letting out a small cry when his knuckles split at the contact. Jensen jumped back, eyes widening at the sight of the crimson blood which began oozing out of all several wounds.

The anger he felt bubbling up inside was almost unbearable. He felt like he needed to do something, like one good punch to the mirror wasn't enough.

So, he did it again.

And again.

_And again._

Jensen lunged forward, gripping his arms and pinning them to his sides.

"Misha, stop it!"

"Let me go!" He cried, thrashing against his grasp.

He took Misha's hand and held it up in front of his face, "look! Misha... look."

His hand was a swollen, bloody mess. As for the mirror, it had a large crack shooting across it. Misha's body went limp at the sight, and suddenly, he felt light headed.

Jensen placed a hand against his cheek, gently turning his head towards him. The scleras of his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red. He was desperately trying to hold back tears, biting down on his bottom lip when a whimper escaped the back of his throat.

"What the hell happened?"

He didn't understand. Just this morning Misha had been his usual, happy self, frolicking about the convention and interacting with fans... what had changed since then?

He opened his mouth, as if to reply, but all that came out was a stifled sob. He was trying so hard to hold it together, as if crying would be a sign of weakness. Jensen threw his arms around the older man, pulling him into a tight embrace, and it felt like he were holding up dead weight.

"It's okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "You can let it out, I'm here -- I've got you."

Misha buried his face into his chest, the tears spilling out of his eyes unbidden, and even though he crushed his hands into his eyes, he couldn’t stop them, and then he started to sob, his shoulders shaking and his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Jensen whispered reassuring words into his ear while rubbing circles into the small of his back. Misha's nails dug into his shoulder blade, his chest heaving as he sobbed harder than he had in years. Everything just built up, all of the emotions and pain, until he finally broke and everything came pouring out. No matter how much he wanted to stop the tears from falling, he couldn't seem to control himself.

Jensen stayed in that same position for as long as Misha needed, holding him in his arms. He rested his cheek against his soft, dark hair, closing his eyes. He didn't say a word, knowing from experience it was best to just be there and provide the comfort needed.

After a few minutes, Misha's breathing steadied, and his hiccuped sobs eased into occasional sniffles. He thickly swallowed, pawing at his face with his bruised hands.

"I-I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me," he muttered, glancing up at him through lowered, wet lashes.

"Don't you dare apologize for being human, Misha. These things happen." He cupped his face, swiping away the tear residue with his thumb. "I'm really worried about you." He leaned into the touch, softly sighing. "Can you tell me what happened? I just wanna help."

He shook his head, pulling away. "It's stupid. I don't deserve sympathy, Jensen. Not for something like this."

"There's no way you're walking out of here after pulling something like that. You scared the crap out of me." He took a step forward, brushing his bangs out of his face which were dampened with sweat. "Talk to me. Please, Misha."

Misha pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes and deeply exhaling.

"Do you ever wish you just couldn't fucking feel anything?" He asked, forcing a watery smile.

Jensen nodded, suddenly feeling an overwhelming surge of sadness. The way Misha spoke, it reminded him all too well of the scene he had to shoot seven years ago. The scene where Dean talked about hell. He had to go to such a dark place in order to get the emotions for that scene; somewhere so deep he truly did wish he couldn't feel a damn thing. The fact that Misha felt this low himself broke his heart. He was so undeserving of this feeling.

"Yes, more than you'd think," he breathed, tears of his own beading in the corners of his eyes. "What's making you feel like this?" Jensen found himself having to force the words out, because suddenly, he didn't really want to know, in fear that he'd smash a mirror himself.

"The fans... they made me sign something. It said that Castiel deserved to die, that he started the apocalypse and everything was his fault. At first I thought it was just a troll or whatever, because this happens to me at least once per convention, so I brushed it off, but... then there were more. The comments kept getting worse and worse, and eventually I started forgetting about all the nice things that were said, because all I could think about was how much these people seemed to hate me. Then I realized... why don't these things happen to you and Jared? Why is it just me? Is it because I really am as terrible as I think I am?"

Jensen's stomach churned at the thought of Misha sitting there all by himself signing countless autographs while feeling so sad and alone, and he wasn't there to make it better. He could have been, but he was too busy relaxing in the green room; relaxing while someone he cared about was miserable.

"Misha, stop it. It's just a few douche bags with nothing better to do, don't think like that--"

"Do you wanna know what was the worst message I got?" Before Jensen could even reply, Misha continued, a swell of emotion thickening his voice. "It said that you hated me, and were only using me to look good in front of the fans." His voice cracked and he had to look away, eyes stinging with fresh tears.

A wave of emotions hit Jensen, and all he could see was red. Who the fuck had the audacity to say something like that -- speaking for him. He loved Misha more than anything, and the fact that someone got him to sign something so cruel and heartless disgusted him to a whole new level.

"You don't believe that shit, do you?" He asked, voice laced with concern.

He shrugged, a single tear escaping the corner of his eye and rolling down his cheek. "I don't know anymore, Jen. I have a hard time believing in anything these days."

"Well, believe in this," he gingerly interlaced his fingers with Misha's, insuring not to put pressure on his wounded hand. "I do not hate you. I don't want you ever thinking that again, alright?"

He gave a small nod, ducking his head. Jensen tilted his chin up with his index finger, their eyes meeting.

"Seriously, Misha. I love you, you know that."

"I know... I'm sorry."

He bent down and placed a soft kiss to his wet cheek.

"Alright, go head back to my room and I'll come join you in a few minutes," Jensen said.

"Jensen, I can't. I've really gotta get to those photo ops, they're gonna kill me for being so late."

He took a few steps towards the door, but Jensen pressed his hand to his chest, bringing him to a halt.

"You're not going to those photo ops, no freakin' way," Jensen said sternly, crossing his arms.

"Thanks, but I think I can take care of myself," he huffed, rolling his eyes and turning for the door.

"Misha, I'm serious."

The older man turned to face him with a look of defeat.

"Look, as much as I'd love to go to your room with you, I really can't. They're gonna be so pissed off; the fans, and the creation workers."

"I'll deal with them, I promise. Just please, for the love of god, stop thinking about others for one day and start thinking a little more about yourself."

Misha's expression softened and he nodded, stepping out of the way so Jensen could open the door.

"I'll see you upstairs in say... fifteen minutes?" He asked, a ghost of a smile curving his lips.

"Okay... don't keep me waiting, Ackles," Misha teased, shooting him a wink before exiting the washroom.

Even though Misha had tried to be playful with him just then, Jensen could see right through it. He could tell he had tried to suppress everything he had been feeling, but he was still noticeably off. He just wished there was something he could do to help.

As Jensen headed back to the green room, the smile on his face began to fade. It was hard to stay happy when he knew that the person he loved was miserable inside. He wanted to help, and if that meant keeping him from doing photo ops and pissing a few people off, so be it. What he didn't understand was, why some people were so intent on making Misha feel like shit. Him, of all people. It didn't make a lick of sense.

"Mister Ackles, excuse me," a creation worker called out, pulling him to the side. "Have you seen Misha? If he's not in the photo op room in five minutes I'll have to do refunds, and--"

"He's not going, sorry, but you're gonna have to cancel."

He attempted to inch around her, but she only moved with him, apparently not willing to take no for an answer.

"But, we've already sold hundreds of tickets, so if he's here I'd really like to talk to him about the situation before doing anything drastic."

"Listen, I'm telling you no, so that's that," he grumbled, shoving past her with more force this time, hoping she'd get the message.

"Mister Ackles, please, this is very important," she pleaded, chasing after him.

"I said no! Jesus christ, he's not doing the damn photo ops!" After saying it, he instantly regretted it. He hadn't meant to snap like that, he was just so pissed off about pretty much everything and wasn't in the mood for this.

"Jensen, that's enough," Jared said causticly, suddenly towering over him. He had been so caught up in the small argument he hadn't noticed that Jared had been listening in from the other side of the hall.

Jensen nodded, taking a step back and clearing his throat. "Sorry..." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look, how about you head on over to the photo op room and I'll meet you there in a minute and we'll work something out," Jared proposed, lips curving into a warm smile.

"Yes, of course," she replied, returning the smile and darting off in the other direction.

As per usual, Jared was there to save the day. He was always looking out for him, just as if they were real brothers.

"Dude, what the hell? You can't get pissed at someone for doing their job!" Jared scolded, shaking his head in disappointment.

"I know, I know. I didn't mean too, alright? I really don't need this right now." He scrubbed a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jared cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "Why, what's going on?"

"Look, I'll fill you in later, but right now there's somewhere I've gotta be."

Jared took the hint, softly smiling and patting him on the back. "I get it, man. Whatever's going on with Misha, I hope he feels better soon."

"Thanks, brother."

He eased across the space between them, wrapping his arms around him and giving him a quick, but firm hug.

"You owe me for having to deal with the creation workers," he teased, smacking his butt as he pulled away. Jensen chuckled as he walked away, because what had he done to deserve such an amazing, supportive best friend.

***

Jensen gave a few, quick taps on the door, slipping inside the small hotel room. Misha was curled up on the bed, back facing the door. Jensen hadn't known what he was expecting exactly, but this definitely crushed the small ounce of hope he had been carrying. He thought maybe, just maybe, Misha had felt a little bit better after their conversation in the washroom, but apparently that wasn't enough. He'd never seen Misha so affected by something before, this was taking way too large of a toll on him for his liking.

He slipped into the bed next to Misha, wrapping his arms around his backside.

"Hey," he whispered.

After a few seconds, Misha rolled over onto his side so he could face the younger man. "Hey," he replied, forcing a smile.

Jensen snuck a glance over Misha's shoulder where he could see that the pillow he had been laying on had a large tear stain in the fabric. There he was, thinking Misha actually felt a little better, when in reality he'd been up here crying the whole time. Jensen could no longer hide his anger.

"I'm never letting you go to another one of those fucking autograph sessions alone ever again. If they wanna make you sign crap like that, they're gonna have to go through me." He shook his head, the fresh anger digging deeper. 

"It's okay, Jen... really--"

"No, it's not fucking okay! They used my name to hurt you, and that isn't okay!" Jensen tried to keep his voice down, but it was extremely difficult. It just made him so mad, having to see the one he loves in so much pain.

"Jensen, please... I don't need this right now. I don't need you getting worked up."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just... I hate seeing you like this, Mish. I hate it. You don't deserve any of this crap, you've been through enough." He pressed a kiss into his soft, dark hair, pulling him closer so he could rest his head on his chest.

"I don't wanna talk anymore, Jen," he whispered, letting his eyes close.

Jensen wished there was something he could do to make him feel better. He didn't care what it was, he just wanted to help.

After pondering for a little while, something came to mind. Something that never once failed to put Misha at ease.

Whenever Jensen sang onstage, Misha was always either in the front row, cheering him on, or backstage, waiting for him to disappear behind the curtains so he could reward him with kisses. On set when Misha couldn't sleep, Jensen would sneak off to his trailer with his guitar and strum on it, softly humming until he drifted into unconsciousness. Jensen never understood why Misha loved his singing so much, but whatever the reason, he found it absolutely adorable and somewhat flattering.

He cleared his throat, propping himself up on his elbows so his vocal chords wouldn't sound flat. Misha nuzzled up into his side, a soft smile curving his lips, as if he knew what Jensen were about to do. His heart melted a little, seeing Misha smile.

For the song, Jensen decided to sing one that was near and dear to his heart, for multiple reasons.

 _Hey Jude, don't make it bad_  
_Take a sad song and make it better_  
_Remember to let her into your heart_  
_Then you can start to make it better_

 _Hey Jude, don't be afraid_  
_You were made to go out and get her_  
_The minute you let her under your skin_  
_Then you begin to make it better_

 _And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_  
_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_  
_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_  
_By making his world a little colder_  
_Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah_

 _Hey Jude, don't let me down_  
_You have found her, now go and get her_  
_Remember to let her into your heart_  
_Then you can start to make it better_

 _So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin_  
_You're waiting for someone to perform with_  
_And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do_  
_The movement you need is on your shoulder_  
_Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah yeah_

 _Hey Jude, don't make it bad_  
_Take a sad song and make it better_  
_Remember to let her under your skin_  
_Then you'll begin to make it_  
_Better better better better better better, oh_

He glanced down at Misha who had long since fallen asleep, his chest moving in and out slowly as he breathed. The smile and frown lines had smoothed out, and his dark lashes fluttered as he dreamed.

Jensen hummed the last verse, slowly sinking down to Misha's level and resting his cheek against the top of his head.

He hoped that when Misha woke in a few hours, he'd be back to his old self.

This whole thing taught him a valuable lesson. Even the happiest of people, who you wouldn't think could ever feel this depressed and who could hurt beyond belief, can break. Even Misha Collins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's had enough. It's time he addresses the situation and puts a stop to the hate once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to "Everyone can break, even Misha Collins" has been requested for a while now, so I thought, why not? :) Especially after the recent events of Seacon, I really wanted to have Jensen dealing with the haters. It felt like the story needed some closure, so here it is! It basically picks up right where it left off, so re-read the last bit of the previous story if you need a memory jog. Enjoy!

It had been hours and Jensen was still completely enraged by what had happened to Misha. He thought that maybe if he laid down with him for a while, his anger would subside- but it didn't. In fact, it seemed to have made him angrier. 

Even asleep, Jensen could still see the lingering sadness on Misha's face. The dried up water encompassing his eyes, the wet tracks down his cheeks, the frown lines creasing his forehead... even when asleep, Misha was still hurting. 

And the worst part of it all; how could he just let himself lay there? Let himself lay there when he knew he could be doing something about this whole fucked up situation. Even though he didn't know what to do, he still knew that there was always something that could be done. He couldn't just do nothing and let it happen again, because inevitably- it would. It always happens, there's always someone out there who has something nasty to say, especially to Misha, which he would never understand.

He scrunched his chin down so he could get a better look at the older man who had his head pillowed by his chest. He couldn't help but smile, seeing Misha curled up beside him, arms and legs tangled with his own. He almost didn't want to move; just wanted to lay there for a little while longer and take it all in. Even after all these years, he still couldn't believe he could call Misha his. It was just so surreal that someone so amazing could love him. 

He cupped Misha's cheek, gently stroking his thumb across the stubble.

"Hey, Mish," Jensen whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead in an effort to wake him.

Misha stirred, letting out a small moan. 

"What?" He muttered groggily, burying his face into Jensen's shoulder.

"I have to go sign autographs, but I promise I'm gonna come back and get you as soon as I'm done... unless you wanna come with me?"

Misha sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm not going back down there, Jen," he replied, voice low and defeated. 

Jensen's eyes widened in disbelief.

"You're gonna have to eventually! I mean, there's a ton of other conventions we still have to go to, and--"

"I'm not going to any more conventions, Jensen."

Jensen couldn't believe what he was hearing. He never thought he'd see the day where Misha Collins didn't want to go to a Supernatural convention, in fact, he was pretty sure he'd never missed one.

"Come on, Misha! Don't say that! You're probably just overtired, try to get some more sleep and you can think about it tomorrow or something."

Misha thickly swallowed, "No... I've made up my mind."

"You can't just quit!"

Misha pulled away, abruptly sitting up.

"Jensen, I said no!" He snapped.

Jensen was taken aback by Misha's sudden harsh outburst. He hardly ever yelled. This whole situation was turning him into someone that he wasn't.

Misha cleared his throat, lowering his tone back to a calmer level. "Look, I... I can't, okay? You don't understand what it feels like... the fans love you and Jared, but when it comes to me, I'm just a third wheel who gets in the way of the brothers. People... they don't come here thinking, "I want a picture with the wayward angel!" No, they want a picture with the main boys who are actually relevant!" 

Misha's chest began heaving as he spilled out all of his inner thoughts and emotions. He hadn't intended to reveal as much as he was, but once he started, he couldn't stop.

"Misha..." Jensen started.

"You don't get death threats and hateful papers to sign! You just get affection and love because you're fucking perfect! Maybe if I had a perfect face like yours, or a sweet personality like Jared's, they'd like me. Instead, I'm just me... and no one wants to be around this. At least, I know I wouldn't," Misha's dewy eyes trailed over to meet Jensen's. "I just can't do it anymore, Jen. I can't keep suppressing what these threats and hate are doing to me! I-I have feelings, I'm not just some plastic bag people can keep reusing! I can't fucking take it anymore!" Misha's once strong, rough voice came crashing down into suppressed weeps. He buried his face into his hands, shoulders trembling as warm tears fell from his eyes. Jensen watched in shock, for once not knowing what to say. He didn't want to make the situation worse, but at the same time he wanted to provide comfort. His brain was too foggy to think straight. The only thing he could really focus on was his shattering heart.

Conventions were the only time he and Misha actually got to be affectionate towards one another; as if they were a real couple. On set they were too busy working and used the only time they got together to cuddle in bed until they fell asleep. Filming was super draining, they never had energy to actually do things afterwards. But when they were at conventions, they spent each night together and even snuck some kisses in while they were in the green room. The plane rides were one of Jensen's favourite parts, because he could rest his head on Misha's shoulder and no one would question it. People sleep like that all the time, it was totally normal. They could even pass holding hands sometimes. For hours, they'd sit and take in each other's closeness until they were pulled apart. If Misha didn't go to conventions anymore, all of this would be taken away. Their relationship may even become non-existent, and that scared the hell out of him. He was at a point in his life where he couldn't picture a future that didn't involve Misha in it. This couldn't be the end of it all just because a few people had nothing better to do. How could Misha just let them tear them apart?

Jensen blinked back the sting of tears, letting out a shaky puff of air. 

"I can't believe this is happening," he breathed, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Misha looked up from his hands, cheeks covered in glistening tears. Jensen could tell that Misha knew exactly what he was thinking. That it was over.

"I don't want it to be like this, Jen... but I just don't see another way out. I can't keep going like this... this isn't me." 

Jensen bit down on his bottom lip, choking back a sob.

"No, I'm not letting this happen. They're not going to get what they want, I won't let them take you from me, Misha. No way in hell."

Misha let out a laugh which sounded more like a sob, "what are you gonna do, Jen? They've already won."

Jensen only took a minute to think, then his face lit up. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and he didn't care how much shit he got in for doing it.

"Clean up, we're going downstairs," Jensen instructed, getting up to fetch a toilet roll from the washroom.

"I don't wanna go down there, not like this," Misha confessed.

Jensen tossed him the roll after ripping a piece off for himself, blowing his nose and wiping the tears from his eyes.

"It wasn't a question, you're coming whether you like it or not."

Jensen grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. Misha staggered off the bed, reluctantly slipping on a pair of shoes while cleaning his face up with his free hand.

"Fine," he grumbled. 

The walk down to the convention centre was slightly awkward. Misha made it clear that he didn't want to speak, hiding his face whenever someone passed by. 

When they finally got into the main theatre, it was fairly quiet. Most of the fans were getting their photo ops, preparing to leave. There was only about an hour left of the convention.

Perfect, Jensen thought.

"Stay here," Jensen said before darting backstage.

Misha was left standing awkwardly by the front door, feeling quite confused and frankly, abandoned. He would have preferred hiding under the covers at this point.

After a few minutes ticked by, an announcement was made for the fans to take their seats in the main theatre. Misha quickly hid off to the side as the fans swarmed in, much quicker than anticipated.

Richard walked onstage, a welcoming smile plastered on his face.

"We weren't planning on having an extra panel or anything, but Jensen requested this one. So, please give him a warm welcome!"

The fans cheered as Jensen walked onstage, patting Richard on the back as he exited.

"Hey, y'all... sorry this is so out of nowhere, I just really needed to get something off my chest," he turned to face the people in line for questions. "You guys can sit down, I'm not gonna be taking any questions, sorry." 

The fans exchanged puzzled looks before shuffling back to their seats.

"I know Jared is usually up here with me, but this is kind of important, so I thought I should do it alone."

Misha could see how nervous Jensen looked. He knew how much he hated talking onstage by himself, and he wished he could do something to help, but he was just not himself. It wouldn't be smart to interfere. 

"Um, today has been... hard. I know people out there think it's funny to put people down- to make them feel like crap for being human. I'll never understand it. Hating on someone online is one thing, but taking pictures with them only to mock them and have them sign things that will purposely hurt them is just down right awful. And I don't normally talk about these things, because it's best to leave them alone, but this has to stop. You're hurting someone who doesn't deserve anything but love and admiration."

Misha could feel himself starting to choke up, watching Jensen stand up for him like that.

"For those of you who think it's funny to tell someone that I care about that I'm using them, I want you to know something. You may think what you're doing doesn't cause damage, but it does. It can really hurt a person. Not only can it affect one person, but also everyone around them. Sadness is a chain reaction. Believe me, I know," Jensen glanced over at Misha, softly smiling. "The person you're hurting is an absolute angel who deserves nothing but appreciation and love for all he's done."

Jensen strutted to the far side of the stage, towards the staircase. "Misha, would you come up here, please?"

The audience gasped, some freaking out from excitement and others visibly disgusted, but Jensen couldn't care less.

Misha felt as though his feet had been superglued to the floor. Everyone's attention had shifted to him. His heart pounded in his ears, the nerves settling in. There was no way he'd be able to stand up there under the spotlight.

"It's okay, baby... come here," Jensen's soothing voice boomed through the speakers, melting Misha's nerves away. Upon seeing Jensen's hand outstretched towards him, ready for him to take, he felt as though he could accomplish anything.

He slowly made his way towards the stage, taking Jensen's hand. He helped him up and brought him to the centre, keeping their hands tightly locked. 

"I want everyone in this room to know that I don't hate Misha, and I never will. In fact, I can't even picture a life without this man in it." He turned to face him, "Misha, I know what you think about yourself, but you never asked how I feel. Well, I think you're absolutely gorgeous, every part of you. Your fluffy, dark hair, your stunning, blue eyes, that adorable smile... everything about you is jaw droopingly beautiful. But, what I love the most is your ability to always care about others. No matter what's happened to you, you always think about the people around you. Your kindness never ceases to amaze me, and I want the whole world to know. I want them to know that I'm absolutely head over heels in love with you, and no piece of paper can change that."

Those three seconds of silence were the scariest Jensen had ever experienced. He had no idea how Misha would respond. Their relationship had only ever taken place behind closed doors, so for him to lay it all out there for everyone to hear was more than a big leap.

The audience had never been so quiet. The only sound you could hear was the rushed breathing of the two actors through the microphone.

As if on impulse, Misha threw his arms around Jensen, bringing him into a tight embrace. Jensen could feel his entire body trembling. 

The room stayed in a dead silence, everyone anxiously awaiting what would happen next.

Jensen slowly brought his arms up, wrapping them around Misha. He buried his face into the crook of his neck, closing his eyes. That's when Misha pressed his lips to the shell of his ear, whispering, "I love you so much," so only he could hear. 

He pulled back so he could look at Jensen, his green eyes twinkling beneath the stage lights. Placing his hand on the back of his neck, Misha pulled him in, their lips locking. 

The fans went wild, camera flashes going off left and right. Misha smiled into the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. 

"This is gonna go freaking viral."

Jensen chuckled, brushing Misha's bangs from his face.

"Good," he whispered, spinning him around and pressing another hot kiss to his lips.

From the side of the stage, Jared was beaming, holding his phone up to catch it all on tape. Jensen had never seen the younger man so ecstatic. 

Jared winked at him, giving him a thumbs up. Jensen nodded in response, mouthing, "thanks brother," over Misha's shoulder.

From that day on, the hate towards Misha definitely decreased. You could never truly stop hate for good, because someone always had something nasty to say, but through it all, Misha remained happy, because he knew that despite having a few people who didn't like him, there would always be someone out there who loved him unconditionally, and that was never stopping.


End file.
